


The Meat it Feeds On

by Arya_Greenleaf



Series: Kiss Prompts [1]
Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Jealousy, Pregnancy, Rough Kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-18 07:50:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5908429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arya_Greenleaf/pseuds/Arya_Greenleaf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peggy is knee deep in the investigation into the Arena Club and the SSR needs a way inside. With the club's strict rules and stuffy attitude, there's only one reasonable solution: Going undercover with Jack Thompson. Steve looks on from his own position, assigned to cozy up to Whitney Frost, and tries to stay focused on the operation without much luck.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Meat it Feeds On

**Author's Note:**

> "O beware, my lord, of jealousy;  
> It is the green-ey'd monster, which doth mock  
> The meat it feeds on."  
> \--Othello, Act 3, Scene 3
> 
> Response to the anonymous prompt _Steggy + 21, jealous kiss_ on tumblr.
> 
> Please assume that everything is the same except for the fact that Steve is alive. The narrative takes place in an expanded timeline at the beginning of AC Season 2, after Peggy gets to California but before they connect the dots surrounding Whitney Frost and before Wilkes gets involved with the investigation. Assume that a friendly and working relationship exists between Violet and the Peggy Squad.
> 
> Edit 115FEB2016: Evidently people are worrying and I don't want you to worry! Peggy is drinking Shirley Temples. They have no alcohol in them. I'm sorry if I didn't make that obvious enough in the text before Steve mentions the exact name of the drink toward the end.

She stood close to Jack, her arm looped through his and a dreamy smile on her face. She curled her body toward his with affection and deference and played absentmindedly with the ring on her finger, its modest diamond catching the light from the extravagant chandeliers overhead.

She smiled warmly and batted her lashes, enraptured in whatever Jack was saying to the group of men they were surrounded by, all holding brandies and wearing self-assured expressions with their bespoke suits.

“You haven’t introduced us to the little lady yet, Jackie! Almost forgot she was here—so quiet—looks like you caught yourself the perfect wife.”

She blushed prettily and covered her mouth with her hand to dampen her giggle. Jack glanced down at her with a grin like a coyote. He pushed a curled lock of hair behind her ear, his thumb brushing almost lewdly across her cheek. “I certainly have, gentlemen.”

One of the men drawled slowly, “It’s Margaret, right?”

She smiled brightly. “Oh, call me Marge, _everybody_ does,” she purred in a heavy Mississippi accent.

“Who’s everybody, Marge? The ladies at the office?”

She looked scandalized, “Oh, _goodness_ no. I’m a nurse! Proper women’s work, like my daddy says. It’s really just the right place, but I’ll be happy to give it up soon.”

“Oh?” The man addressing her looked at her questioningly, waiting for her to continue.

She caressed the swell of her belly, noticeable only when she flattened the skirt of her evening gown against it. “Well, I think I did my part for the War and it’s time to leave now. I love it—taking care of all those little ones in the nursery, I like that rotation best—but Jack thinks I should stay home and take care of _our_ little one.” Her mouth widened into a radiant smile, “And I agree.”

Jack leaned down and hooked his finger under her chin, making her look up at him, “How did I get so lucky?” There was a flash of something bright and eager in his eyes as he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers in a dry, forceful kiss.

“Well, I think we should let Marge get off her feet and spend some time with gentler company while we go discuss business. Gentlemen?” The man speaking flagged a waiter down and instructed him to bring a full-service side car to the lounge. “We won’t be disturbed.”

Jack led her by the elbow to the plush seating area at the edge of the room where the wives and daughters of the men of the Arena Club were congregated. He left her with a kiss on the crown of her head and a promise not to keep her out too late.

She turned and watched him go, her expression soft and full of adoration, startling when the woman beside her patted her knee to procure her attention.

***

Howard was too flamboyant for the job, that much was absolutely certain. He had the credentials—money, power, influence—that much was for sure, but none of the members of the Arena Club would take him seriously. They were men of indulgence and lechery and unscrupulous morals, _but_ , they were also men of discretion. Howard, unfortunately, was the polar opposite of the concept.

Jarvis wasn’t a good enough actor. Short bursts under pressure, that was something he could definitely pull off. An extended evening under scrutiny? No one wanted to put him through that. He was enthusiastic and eager to help, but he wasn’t an agent—he didn’t deserve to be put in potential harm’s way.

Sousa wasn’t right for the job either. He had an altogether forgettable face, a polite enough air to insinuate himself into the group with ease—but the whole package was too memorable. The well-dressed man with the crutch would stick in their minds. Even if they didn’t ask, which was an absolute impossibility, they’d wonder about how he’d lost his leg and build the story in their heads the way people always seemed to when confronted with someone who’d served.

Steve couldn’t do it. He was too recognizable. It made him boil with frustration that he couldn’t dive into the work himself—undercover operations be damned.

The Arena Club was exclusive—men only, white only, meeting at secret locations, somehow important enough to catch Dottie Underwood’s attention. Peggy needed an in.

And it looked like the only way she was going to get that in was through Jack Thompson.

The back story was easy enough to fabricate. A new name, some fake papers—nothing that was terribly hard to obtain. He had to be from New Money, none of the club members would believe he’d inherited the wealth he was claiming to be willing to throw around. Bank accounts were prepared, records falsified, a healthy donation from Howard’s coffers to lend authenticity deposited.

But it wouldn’t do to just send Jack in and let him go to town. Chief Sousa certainly didn’t trust that he’d come back with any useful information. Howard didn’t trust that he’d come back with all the money. Peggy didn’t trust that he’d come back without blowing the operation entirely—superior rank didn’t equate to competence in the least.

Steve just… didn’t trust him.

Peggy had thought seriously about finding a way to sneak into the club herself. Crawling through the ductwork, slipping in a service entrance, breaking in through the roof access or the basement.

The problem was, they couldn’t anticipate what would be inside once she got there.

Blueprints of the building were illuminating, applications for renovations that seemed to have never happened, square footage that was unaccounted for. They knew there was some kind of secret space, but they didn’t know what or whom was inside. They had no idea what kind, if any, of extra security precautions were arranged.

Sneaking in would mean Peggy would be left largely without backup.

It was too dangerous.

It had been a difficult discussion to have, but Steve and Peggy both agreed on that matter.

Especially with Peggy in a family way.

She was more than physically and mentally capable of doing the job but the element of the unknown presented too much of a risk. It was still early, the pregnancy only just beginning to show—and both of them wanted too desperately to meet their child to take any chances.

Unable to find a way into the club itself, Peggy had discovered the next best thing: A fundraising gala for Calvin Chadwick. All of the club members would be there, much of the controlling interest of Isodyne Energy would be as well. They couldn’t, however, guarantee that any of them would talk shop at the event.

Ever resourceful, Peggy had another plan.

The wives, mothers, sisters, and daughters of powerful men seemed often to be overlooked. They were a wealth of potential information—snippets of conversation here and there, overheard while the men in their lives had their meetings or flat out discussed in front of them in the belief that they were of no concern; discussions of new dresses for parties with interesting guest lists; full itineraries of their man’s day-to-day dealings and sharp eyes when anything looked amiss.

Peggy would attend the gala on Jack’s arm—his pretty, pregnant, docile wife—and insinuate herself into their circle of trust.

Peggy invented an identity for herself. A girl from Missouri—no, Mississippi, she could do that accent better—who’d come from no wealth to speak of. Someone who wouldn’t have many records to check up on, born in a farm house somewhere and baptized in a forgotten one of the hundreds of tiny community parishes. She had a girlfriend who’d served in the Pacific and then gone back home to retake her job in the hospital in her hometown who got Peggy’s fake papers on file and would testify to her having worked there at some point when the Arena Club surely went digging.

They would claim they met while Jack was visiting a friend who’d taken ill.

It was fool-proof plan as long as Jack didn’t act like a damned fool.

So far, it was looking good.

The pantomime was looking good. The looks of Jack with his paws all over Peggy were not so good.

Steve choked down the bitter anger in his throat. This was Peggy’s operation, she knew what she was doing. Steve acting the part of possessive husband wouldn’t help her. It stung all the same.

He found himself wishing it had been anyone but Jack.

Jarvis would have been good. Jarvis would have kept a respectful distance, his English sensibilities and sense of respect for Peggy strong. Jarvis wouldn’t have had that predatory glint in his eye.

Peggy sat down gracefully amongst the wives of the Arena Club. Introductions well under way, Steve had his own job to attend to.

Steve rubbed at his left hand, feeling naked without his wedding band, and scanned the room for his target.

She was near the bar, commanding the attention of a flock of young men, a glass of champagne clasped delicately in her fingers. Steve made his way across the room and settled himself at a clear space just a few feet away to wait for the bar tender to serve him.

He downed his drink and called for another before sliding sheepishly closer, “Ms. Frost?”

Whitney Frost turned at the sound of her name, soft and sweet between barks of laughter from her audience. She creased her brow and frowned for a moment before her face lit up with happy recognition.

“Gentlemen, you will just have to excuse me for a moment or two, I think I’ve just found someone to fill the last spot on my dance card.”

Steve blushed and ducked his head as the others filtered away reluctantly and Frost regarded him with cool interest.

“Captain America. I didn’t know you’d be here tonight.”

“Well, ma’am, I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. Senate needs more men like your husband.” Steve had to keep from laughing out loud. The last thing the Senate needed was another man like Chadwick.

“Is that so?” Frost looked at him curiously, like she agreed with his unspoken sentiment.

“Absolutely, ma’am.”

“ _Ack_ , please, it’s Whitney. That ma’am nonsense makes me feel ancient!”

Steve chuckled, “Sorry.”

“You got a name or should I just call you Cap?”

He looked up at her through his eyelashes, a move that seemed to have an effect on the ladies he’d encountered since serum, though he couldn’t understand why. “Steve, it’s Steve.”

“Well, Steve-it’s-Steve, it is an _absolute_ pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure’s mine, really. I’m a big fan— _Tales of Suspense_ was just wonderful.”

She reached out and patted his cheek, “Aw, aren’t you a sweetheart. C’mon, let’s have that dance now. You can tell me what it’s like being an international celebrity.” She took a big gulp to finish off her drink and put the flute down on the bar.

“I don’t know about all that.”

“All those film reels? The bond tour? Being a real-live hero? I’d say it was all that.”

“Nothin’ like you.” Steve swallowed his drink quickly, washing the absurdity of the things he was saying down the back of his throat. Whitney pulled him toward the dance floor, pausing to smooth the lapels of his tux before taking his hands and launching into the quickstep the band was backing. She winced and frowned when he stepped on her toes. “Oh gosh, I’m so sorry!”

“No, no, it’s fine! New partners always have a little trouble.” She easily navigated them toward the edge of the dance floor where they could go more slowly through the steps without getting caught up in the middle of all the other couples.

***

Peggy smiled and smoothed her hand over her belly.

She was thrilled to be pregnant with Steve’s child—their child—but she found it awkward to be fixated on the little bump under her clothes the way she’d seen other women be. The thought of bearing children never crossed her mind until she and Steve made their first trip together to her ladies’ doctor to be fitted with a diaphragm, marriage license in hand to calm the delicate sensitivities of the physician. She’d never been with anyone before that she could actually imagine herself having a child with—not even Fred. She could see a future with Steve—any number of long and rich futures. The fact that he was leaving the decision to have children or not largely in her hands made it more appealing.

 _It’s your body, Peg. You’re the one that’s gotta have it._ He’d said one night after she’d been brought nearly to tears with frustration over not quite getting the diaphragm to sit properly. _You love your job. Having a kid—no matter who stays home with it—changes a hell of a lot. It’s not just us we gotta look out for. There’s a lot more on the line. If you’re happy, I’m happy._ He’d shrugged and smiled, _And there’s always kids who need good homes anyway._

This group of women, though, they seemed to respond to it, the fixation. So Peggy stroked and blushed and cooed and giggled over the brim of the sticky sweet drink in her hands, plucking the cherry off its stem between her teeth and laughing like she’d made an exceptional joke.

They quickly accepted her into the fold, wooed by the story of how she and _Jackie_ had met and fallen in love.

“Have you thought of a name yet?”

“Oh! Well, it’s still early for that, isn’t it?”

“Oh goodness no! I had a name picked out as soon as I found out I was going to have a baby!”

Peggy chewed her lip and pretended to think, “Well, we’ll name him after his daddy, of course.”

_We’re naming him Michael Buchannan._

“But what if it’s a girl, honey?”

Peggy pretended to ponder over it, “Well, Jackie still works then, doesn’t it? She can be Jaqueline!”

_Sarah Evangeline._

“Oh my goodness that is just _too sweet_.”

Peggy sipped her drink and smiled and hid her disgust at the notion of procreating with Thompson and the lies she was telling behind the character she was playing. “Enough about me now, what about you all? What do your husbands do?”

***

Frost swung him toward the other side of the room, closer to where Peggy and the other Arena wives were gathered. “Steve you are wearin’ me out!”

“Sorry,” he took her elbow while she bent down to fix the buckle on her shoe.

“Oh don’t apologize, it’s the most fun I’ve had in ages!”

Try as he might, he couldn’t crack her. Whitney Frost was well versed in the art of flattery and knew exactly when it was being used on her. She was flat out refusing to discuss her husband, his politics, or his business.

It was like he had a softer version of Dottie Underwood on his arm—reading every move before he made it.

Whitney smoothed her hair away from her forehead and frowned in displeasure at the crowded tables, “I just cannot abide those mucky-mucks over there. Would you mind terribly sittin’ in the hen-house with me for a breather?”

“Not at all.” He held out his hand for her to lead the way and then set it down lightly at the small of her back.

“Oh, c’mon now, darlin’! I’m so sick of all of this talk! Tell us more about you, Miss Margie, please? If I have to hear one more darn thing about budgets or campaign promises I’m gonna pop!” One of the younger women in the crowd was practically at the edge of her seat, leaning toward Peggy with interest. “You got a room for little Jackie yet? A nurs’ree? _Oh_ you have got to have a good rockin’ chair, you’ve just got to! When I had my first, my mama gave me the one she rocked me to sleep in—and her mama rocked her before that. It is absolutely my most prized possession. Have you got one yet, Miss Margie?”

Steve hid his revulsion at _little Jackie_ in the rim of a flute of champagne he snatched from a waiter’s tray and passed a second to Whitney with a grin of comradery.

Peggy smiled demurely and shook her head, “Oh no, we haven’t got anything yet. We—ah—we’ve had some… We just want to make sure everything’s okay before we start all that.”

“Oh no, sug’ah, I’m sure it’ll all be alright.” One of the elders of the group patted Peggy’s arm.

“It just took so long, is all. It’s really just me being silly.”

Whitney cleared her throat, “Ladies, who’s the new blood?”

A wide smile spread across Peggy’s face and she stood, holding out her hand to Whitney, “Margaret Underwood.” She seemed to tense up with excitement, “And you’re Whitney Frost.”

“That I am. And how’d you get an invite to my little shindig, Ms. Underwood?”

“My husband, Jack, he’s joining the Arena Club.” Peggy dropped her hand in defeat when Frost didn’t acknowledge the gesture.

“Is he now?”

“Well, auditioning for it, at least.” She laughed like she was nervous and clasped her hands around her glass, swiping her fingers through the condensation on the outside. She looked at Steve as if finally seeing him hovering beside Frost for the first time.

He was forever astounded at Peggy’s ability to transform herself.

He admired the cycles of confusion and admiration and school-girlish glee that filtered through Peggy’s features.

“You’re Captain America!”

Steve shuffled his feet and put on his best _aww shucks_ face, “Yes, ma’am.”

“Oh, my, this is just so exciting! You know, I went to your show when you came down by Saint Louis. All my girlfriends and I, we hopped on a train and didn’t tell our daddies where we were goin’. We got into so much trouble! But it was worth it.”  Steve chuckled and said that seeing his show wasn’t worth all that, especially not getting into trouble with their fathers. “Oh, but it was! That thing you said, um, _every bond that you buy is a bullet in the barrel of your best guy’s gun!_ All I could think of was my brother and that all of those people at the show were helpin’ keep him safe by buying bonds.”

“I’m glad we could help him. Is he here tonight, I’d love t’meet him.”

“I-I-I… no.” Peggy drew a deep breath in. Steve’s heart broke for her, but if she was going to weave Michael into her cover story then he had to keep up with her. “No, my Michael didn’t make it home.”

“I am so sorry Ms. Underwood.” He swallowed down a laugh, making it sound like a sympathetic gulp. Laughing certainly wouldn’t be an appropriate reaction right then and there. He’d laughed out loud when he’d seen the papers with the details of Peggy’s fake identity, though. “My condolences.”

Peggy blinked away unshed tears and Whitney rolled her eyes discretely and tightened her grip on Steve’s arm. He imagined she suddenly didn’t think it was such a good idea to sit for a rest with the other ladies. He also imagined Peggy might be trying to make Frost uncomfortable very much on purpose.

Frost’s husband might not be a key player in the chain of Arena’s command, but Frost herself seemed to command the not only the adoration but the respect of everyone in the room. The longer Steve spent with her, the more he was coming around to the idea that she might be the one really calling the shots. He couldn’t figure out how that figured into Isodyne or the Senate or the Arena Club, but Whitney Frost was definitely much more than a pretty lady on a powerful man’s arm.

He’d have plenty to report back to Peggy when they debriefed later on.

Frost pretended to catch the eye of someone across the room and slipped her arm out of Steve’s, passing him her empty flute. “Well, you ladies have fun with the Captain here for a little while—I’ve got campaign contributors to schmooze.” She turned toward Steve with a dangerous smile and smoothed his lapels of invisible wrinkles and tweaked the sides of his bowtie in a territorial display, marking him as hers and daring any of the other women in the group to try to stake a claim, her fingers lingering just a little too long near his throat.

Steve forced himself to smile, uncomfortable with the intimate distance between them. “I’ll be waiting right here for you, Ms. Frost.”

She laughed, light and musical, “How many times do I have to tell you it’s _Whitney_?” She moved around the couch and waved daintily, “I’ll be back real soon, now.”

With Frost gone, the other women visibly relaxed.

“C’mon, sit down now! Wouldn’t look good if we made a genuine article war hero stand around all night would it? Make room there, Vivienne, let the Captain sit.”

Steve smiled and ducked his head, keeping up his bashful charade, “Thank you, ma’am.” He nodded discretely to Peggy, a small sign that he was on the same page as her as the conversation around him resumed.

“So, Captain,” Steve didn’t try to correct the woman who spoke, didn’t offer up his given name. She seemed to be something like the matriarch of the group. “Tell us, what’s more exhausting: trekking through the battlefields of Europe or trying to keep up with Frost?”

A good thirty minutes later Whitney returned, her cheeks flushed a little with all of the champagne she’d been drinking even if she didn’t seem very much drunk. She leaned down close over Steve’s shoulder, her break hot on his ear, “Ready to get away from the biddies?” Steve smiled and raised a brow and nodded. He excused himself politely from the conversation. Peggy’s eyes flicked toward him and then back toward the woman she was speaking with.

Whitney pulled him away, through the middle of the dancefloor, weaving through couples and disturbing conversations. It was a flagrant display of power, that much was obvious. She led him out onto the balcony into the cool evening air and pressed him back into the shadows.

They talked about innocuous things: The weather, life in Los Angeles opposed to New York, the best places to eat in town, the social scene. Steve let Whitney steer the conversation, trying to glean significance from whatever she offered, no matter how small. He’d report everything back, Peggy and Sousa much better at sifting through the details than he was.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, Captain.”

“Am I?”

“You are.”

“How?”

“How did you get into this party, Captain? You’re not on the guest list.”

Steve ran the tip of his tongue over his bottom lip and looked down his nose at Frost where she was standing too close to look at otherwise. He gulped and took a breath, a little thrilled at how forward she was in spite of himself. “I don’t imagine I would be. I didn’t get an invitation.”

“I know. I made the damn list.”

“Would you believe me if I said I crashed the party so I could meet you?”

Frost’s eyes sparkled dangerously, “I might. Considering my husband’s politics certainly have nothing to do with yours.”

Steve put his hands on her hips and sucked his belly in to curl himself down closer to her. “I’m a big fan, Whitney.”

She paused, seeming to make a decision before she craned her neck up and pressed her lips to his. She left him slightly breathless. He could feel the hair at the back of his head sticking up where she’d mussed it, his pomade making it stay. She made a move to push his jacket off, her hands under it, fingertips digging into his shoulders.

Whitney Frost was a hell of a kisser.

Steve swallowed down the heat in his chest and shrugged her hands away. They swept down his arms and held his, her little finger grazing hard over the vacant place for his ring.

“Whitney, I can’t—I-I-I’m married.”

“And? So am I. So is my husband.” She insinuated herself closer, “Do you think I don’t know you’re married? It’s my business to know everything about everyone here—invited guest or _not._ ”

“Ms. Frost, I shouldn’t have come tonight.” He extricated himself from the shadowy corner and stepped away from her. “I should go. I should get back to my wife.”

Steve strode back through the room and out of the doors of the banquet hall, the music inside muted as he stood in the lobby waiting for his coat.

***

Peggy tried her best not to look upset as Frost dragged Steve out toward the balcony.

“Isn’t he just _dreamy_?”

“What? Oh, yes, very much.”

One of the ladies laughed, “Mind yourself there Ms. Underwood, you’ve got a man.”

“Aw, c’mon, Bette, a girl can have fantasies.”

Peggy cleared her throat and sipped her drink, a fresh Shirley Temple brought to her just as soon as she finished the first. She couldn’t stand the stuff, but Miss Rocking Chair seemed to think she needed to be festive and Peggy had declined refreshment otherwise. The pregnancy was wreaking hell on her bladder and stomach, even as early as it was. The last thing she needed was to be in the Ladies when something important was said. So she nursed the saccharine drink and kept a steady pace on the plain crackers on the table to soak it all up.

The content of the conversation going on around her wasn’t nearly as interesting as the pattern of it.

There was a clear hierarchy to the group that had nothing to do with who was married to whom or had what money. The power dynamics were more subtle.

Whitney Frost was the clear top dog.

While her husband was the head of a powerful company and running for a fairly significant political office, he wasn’t in any way in a position of power within the Area Club. There was no reason for the other women of the group to defer to her. She had no influence that mattered.

And yet, conversation lulled and diverted when she appeared, subjects completely changed. A short look or a lift of a brow cowed even the brassiest of the older ladies.

There was something in Frost’s presence that said she wasn’t to be toyed with.

Peggy was situated in such a way that she could keep an eye on the balcony door without being obvious. The longer that Steve was away the more concerned she got. Steve could handle himself in even the stickiest of predicaments, but Frost clearly had that capability as well.

They were gone for well over an hour.

 In that time, Thompson came out of the private room off the hall to check in with her. He was following directives at the minimum, gave her the code word that let her know that everything was so-far-so-good, their cover hadn’t yet been blown. The other ladies cooed over them when Jack sat down briefly beside her, congratulating him on the child that wasn’t his.

One of the Arena members came to fetch him, “I’m going to have them send some food in. Anything you’re in the mood for, Jack?”

“No, no, thank you nothing particular.”

“You ladies alright?” There was a round of nods and affirmations. He turned his stiff smile on Peggy, “I trust they’re all treating you well? No hazing for the coffee klatch just yet?” Peggy laughed and denied it, said she was having a lovely time. “Good. Jack?”

A slow grin spread over Jack’s face as he leaned in. Peggy fought to keep herself from recoiling from the hand on her belly and the lips at the corner of her mouth. “Promise I won’t be too much longer, doll face.” Peggy smiled in a subdued manner and sipped her drink.

Steve finally reappeared with a harassed look and flushed cheeks, trying to smooth down his hair without being too conspicuous about it. Something bitter welled up in Peggy’s chest that didn’t feel much like heartburn. Whitney Frost appeared in the doorway looking lush and prim all at once. She plucked a champagne flute off of a waiter’s tray as he passed and pressed the side of the glass to her cheek while she crossed her arms. She kept her eyes on the back of Steve’s head as he made his retreat, not looking away until the banquet hall’s door closed behind him.

Shortly after, Chadwick broke away from the group of men he was speaking to near the bar. Peggy lost sight of him in the crowd, but evidently Frost didn’t. The woman finally turned on her heel and went back out onto the balcony.

***

Steve thanked the coat check girl and slipped a tip into the over-sized glass on the counter before he headed out the door. He’d grab a taxi and head over to the SSR office get his report down while the details were fresh.

“Captain!” Steve turned to see Chadwick and a man he assumed was Chadwick’s valet coming down the stairs.

“Yes?”

It barely registered in Steve’s head as the valet, a solid wall of a man with a stringy mop of hair, swung his fist hard in the direction of Steve’s face. He stumbled and tipped, stars dancing in front of his eyes, but managed to stay upright.

“—the _fuck—“_

The valet took the brass knuckles off and pocketed them, squaring his shoulders and giving Steve a look of warning.

“Stay away from my wife.”

Steve held back, wanting nothing more than to lunge forward. _Keep a level head. Don’t cause a scene. Peg’s still in there._

Chadwick turned and went back inside. The valet, who was likely les valet and more henchman, winked at Steve and followed him. Steve stood there on the pavement, stunned, staring after them. He touched his jaw and saw stars again. Probing at the inside of his cheek let a flood of tangy warmth into his mouth, his flesh torn up by his teeth. An index finger smoothed over those teeth let him know that miraculously all of them seemed to be present and intact.

Steve took a moment to regain his bearings. He didn’t have a ride—he was supposed to wait for Thompson and Peggy, meet at an extraction point and drive back to the SSR with them. He’d deviated from the plan, but circumstances had necessitated it. He couldn’t go any farther with Frost. Either he was compromised because she had caught on to his game or he was compromised because he wouldn’t take things farther than they’d gone—no mission was worth it, at least not to him.

He couldn’t just wait around, there in front of the hotel or at the extraction point, he’d draw attention to himself. It was fairly clear he couldn’t go back inside to have the concierge call him a cab. He waited there at the curb for several minutes, but it was late, there wasn’t a cab in sight.

Steve began to walk. It was a little while before he reached the less exclusive edge of town, an area was a bus stop on most corners. He chose one and sat, looking at his watch in the hazy lamplight overhead. He wasn’t sure if the buses would still be running—it wasn’t as if it were the small hours, but still. He looked down at himself and swore, the front of his shirt splattered with bright red spittle.

It wasn’t like he was living in hand-me-downs and consignment clothes anymore, he could buy another shirt, but he’d _just_ gotten the tux.

Peggy’d said he cleaned up nice.

He and Bucky had been denied seats on the bus more than once with clothes and faces fresh from a fight. If a bus showed and the driver wouldn’t let him on, he would walk. He could find a payphone, maybe a gas station, call Jarvis to come get him if he wasn’t already occupied with Peggy—hell, maybe even Ana would be kind enough to come retrieve him.

“Dammit,” he muttered to no one in particular as he buttoned his coat to cover his soiled shirt.

“Cap—Captain Rogers?” Steve flinched and turned at the sound of his name, a petite figure silhouetted under the streetlamp. “Is that you?” The figure stepped closer, bent down to look at him nearer to eye-level. The crisp nurse’s whites came into focus before the face did. “Oh my goodness, Captain Rogers!”

“Hi, Violet. What brings you to this part of town?”

She gaped at him and touched her cap like the sight of him might knock it off her head. He supposed he looked worse than he’d thought.

“The hospital is a few blocks away.” Violet jerked her thumb over her shoulder, “This is my bus stop. Steve, what happened?”

“Got hit.”

“Does this… does this have to do with the—“ She cleared her throat, “The job that you all were supposed to do tonight?”

“Kinda.”

“Is Peggy alright?”

“As far as I know, yeah.” He touched the side of his face, it felt tender and puffy. He groaned in discomfort and flat out annoyance that he’d be sporting a look like he’d gone a few rounds for the next several days.

“Steve, let me walk you to the hospital. You should get that checked out, make sure your darn jaw isn’t broken.”

“I can’t, it’ll be a spectacle. I’ll be fine.”

Violet stepped closer and pushed his head back, angling his face into the light with a finger against his forehead. “Your lip is split.” He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, probing at the fat split toward the corner with his tongue. “Please let me walk you back to—“

“Vi, you stitched Sousa’s arm up last week with a bottle of vodka and a damn upholstery needle and never asked a question.” She frowned deeply but didn’t argue. “If I go over there, they’re gonna recognize me and they’re gonna ask questions I’m not prepared to answer. It’s not like Captain America can show up anywhere unnoticed.” Steve sighed heavily, “You know where the closest phone is? I gotta get back to the office and give my report.”

She shook her head and took her change-purse out of her bag, producing two shiny nickels, “Nonsense, you’re coming home with me. We’ll get some ice on that and you can call Daniel.” When the bus arrived a few moments later, she marched him up the stairs and dropped the coins into the fare box before directing him to a seat. “You know, there’s hardly any swelling. Does it hurt much?”

***

Peggy scanned the room for Steve, wondering if he’d left to report back to Sousa or he was still around somewhere. He’d been visibly ruffled after he came in from his private dalliance with Frost. Peggy tried to assure herself that he was fine. She silently scolded herself for the nasty thoughts that popped into her head—Whitney was beautiful and smart and talented, his hair was mussed, they’d been outside for so long and had seemed to have some kind of genuine rapport—and there had been Private Lorraine, such a long time ago but evidently still very fresh in Peggy’s primitive mind— _no_.

Steve was better than that.

Peggy was better than that. And a hell of a lot more confident in their relationship than all of that.

And as much as playing the part of Jack’s wife made Peggy’s skin crawl, she was sure it was just as unpleasant for Steve to get into Frost’s good graces and play the part of star-stuck suitor.

Right?

“Marge, honey, let’s get you home.”

Peggy smiled wearily and allowed Jack to help her up from her seat. Her feet had swollen uncomfortably and her back ached but she refused to lean on him as they moved to the door. They bid their hosts goodbye with hopes to see them again soon. The ladies bid them good luck.

Peggy sighed in exhausted relief when she eased herself into the back of the car, happy to see Jarvis’s smiling face in the rearview mirror. “Are you doing alright, Miss Carter?”

“Yes, Jarvis, thank you.” It felt good to speak in her own voice again. She rolled her jaw, tight from the effort of keeping up Marge Underwood’s accent and unwavering smile. She straightened up in her seat as Thompson slid in on the other side and watched the city go by as Jarvis navigated back to the SSR office.

Sousa was waiting by the phone when they got there, anxious since no one had checked in.

“I’m sorry, Daniel, there just wasn’t the chance to.”

“It’s alright, Peg, I’m just glad yer okay.” Thompson had moved past Sousa haughtily and shut himself up in the chief’s office to write out his report. “Jarvis still here?”

“Yes, he’s waiting downstairs.”

“Go home then, you look beat. We can take care of the paperwork in the morning.”

“Have you heard from Steve?”

“Not yet. You worried?”

“Perhaps.”

“He can handle ‘imself. I’m sure he’s fine.”

Peggy sighed and stood up, slipping her coat back on, “I hope you’re right. Call me if you hear anything, no matter the hour.”

“Of course.”

It wasn’t long after Peggy had left that the phone rang. “You’ve got Sousa. Violet? No, Peggy’s fine, she’s on her way home. What’s wrong?”

***

Violet took Steve’s coat and settled him on the couch, her hostess switch flipping on the moment his feet hit the porch. She disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a flowery-patterned ice-pack under her arm and a tall glass of water and a couple of tablets in either hand.

“I gotta check in.” He glanced at the clock on the wall, conscious of the hour and whether or not Peggy knew his status.

“I’ll ring up the office.” She waited for him to swallow down the tablets before making him sit back and situating the ice-pack over his face. “Relax, cringing like that isn’t going to help.”

“Can you ask if Peg’s checked in yet?”

“Of course. Daniel will probably come collect you.” She moved back into the kitchen and leaned against the wall between the rooms with the telephone receiver balanced between her ear and shoulder. “You still staying over by Stark?”

“In the guest house, yeah.”

Violet put a hand up, “Daniel? Yeah, it’s me. Listen, has Carter made contact yet? Yes? And she’s fine? Everything _else_ is fine? Okay, no, no, it’s… I’ve got Captain Rogers here. No, he didn’t turn up on his own—he’s not on the lamb or anything. I found him at my bus stop of all places.” She laughed softly. “No, somebody picked a fight with him. I don’t know, you’ll have to ask him yourself, now won’t you? None of this is my business. Yes, he’s fine... Look, can you come get him? Yes. Yes.” She paused for a long stretch and signed heavily. “Is that ding don taking over your office again? Can’t you just whack him over the head and be done with it? No? It’d be an awful lot easier for Peg to take up the chief spot in New York if you did.” She laughed again. “You know, when we first got together, if I’d of known I’d have a steady stream of reckless people who think they’re superheroes in and out of my living room like it was a walk-in clinic, I might have reconsidered.” She paused again, probably listening to Sousa apologize. “I love you too, Daniel. I’ll see you soon.”

“Peg—“

“Is fine. Exhausted, evidently, but fine.”

Steve visibly relaxed. “Thank you, Violet, for everything.” He took another sip of water, swishing it around in his mouth to try to clear some of the stale, metallic taste out of it. “You don’t have to… do what you do. Help us out, constantly.” He smiled, wincing when the effort of making the expression caused discomfort. “The cookies at the office are more than enough.”

“Well, what’s life without a little excitement?” She sat down on the couch beside him and pulled her legs up under herself, groaning as she finally yanked her uniform shoes off and let them clonk down onto the floor. “I don’t know how on Earth I’m going to keep myself entertained when you and Peggy go back east.”

It wasn’t long before Sousa was letting himself in the front door and Violet was calling out that they were in the living room and turning the volume on the radio down.

“Peggy’s gonna kill me.”

“Why? You didn’t sucker punch me.”

“I let you go out on the job.”

“And I would have gone anyway if you hadn’t. You think I would have just sat on my thumbs at home? You remember who you’re talkin’ to?”

Sousa pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed as the took in the sigh of Steve’s split lip and barely-swollen jaw, the slightest bloom of a black-and-blue just beginning to form on the apple of his cheek. He leaned down to accept an affectionate peck on the cheek from Violet as she moved past him.

“I’ve got a morning shift, covering for Celia, so I need to get my behind to bed. Steve, you take care of yourself.”

“I will, thank you again, Violet.”

She smiled and retreated toward the stairs. Sousa hauled Steve up off the couch and herded him toward the front door and the car beyond.

“I called over to the house. Peg wasn’t home yet, but Mrs. Jarvis picked up when I tried over there.” He glanced toward Steve in the passenger’s seat. “How the hell did this happen, Steve? You weren’t supposed to go in there bustin’ heads.”

“Did my job. Got cozy with Frost.”

“How cozy?”

Steve cleared his throat, “Cozy enough. I don’t think she would have taken it any farther than she did. She’s too smart for that. Chadwick saw something or suspected it—and I’m sure Frost made sure of that. He followed me outside when I left.”

“Chadwick hit you? That guy’s got limp noodles fer arms.”

“Nah, his… valet? Bodyguard? I don’t know. Had a set’a brass knuckles. Took me by surprise.”

“Christ.” They drove in silence for a while. Sousa didn’t speak again until they were pulling into the long driveway of Stark’s estate. “I don’t expect a report tonight and I don’t expect you to be up bright and early to give it tomorrow, either. I know you got a memory like a damn steel trap. Get some sleep, we’ll regroup in the morning—I’ve got a list of questions I wanna ask, there’s some stuff in Thompson’s paperwork that just doesn’t seem right.”

Steve raised a brow, “Yes, Chief.”

Sousa rolled his eyes and eased the car to a stop. “Yeah, yeah. Tell Peg goodnight.”

***

Taking her shoes off had been heaven. Getting out of her dress had been even better. Even after Ana had been kind enough to help her let the seams out, the shell had still been on the snug side.

Peggy sighed as she sank down onto the vanity bench, the whisper of the cool silk of her robe against bare skin soothing, and set about unpinning the sweep of curls over her left brow and easing the soft bristles of her brush through the rest.

She turned with a wry smile as Steve came through the bedroom door, “You’re late.”

He looked as exhausted as she felt, “Couldn’t call my ride.”

“What happened?”

Peggy watched as he shook off his coat and his suit jacket with his back turned to her, draping both over the arm of the chair in the corner. “I was compromised, I hadda get out of there.” He eased his suspenders off his shoulders and unfastened his bowtie before he turned back toward her. “I’m not good at this undercover stuff. Not like you.”

Peggy looked to him more carefully, taking in the bruise on his cheek and the roundness of his jaw as he stepped into the light of the vanity. “Darling, what happened?”

“Frost came on to me, kissed me. I was leadin’ her on, I thought—I thought flirting would get her to open up. That was a damn mistake, it was my own fault.”

Peggy clenched and unclenched her jaw, “I had an inkling.” She adjusted the collar of her robe, closing it more securely.

“Chadwick came out after me, his muscle took me by surprise.”

He sat down beside her and yanked off his shoes, flexing his toes, “Is it terrible of me to think you might’ve deserved it a little more than a smidge?”

“I was doing what you asked me to, Peg.”

She sighed, “I know. I know.” She righted herself on the seat and leaned her head against his shoulder, “I didn’t think it would sting so bad. It’ll be worth it, though, when we use what you gathered to get to the bottom of this mess.” She dabbed at her eyes, suddenly misty, with the hem of her sleeve. She scolded herself silently. “I couldn’t decide if it was all of that or the baby making me sick.”

Steve leaned back against the vanity and cupped her face tenderly. She laid her hand against his chest, tracing circles with her fingertip around a pearly-white button. “Maybe it was all those Shirley Temples.”

Peggy made a face, “Those were _disgusting_. Ugh. I could feel my teeth rotting out of my head. I brushed them twice when I got back here.”

Steve smiled warmly, his hand moving down over the curve of her jaw and over her chest to settle on the little swell of her belly. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to the side of her neck. “You doin’ alright now?”

She hummed in affirmation, melting into the touch of his lips against her skin and his arms circling her waist. She stroked his back, feeling the heavy contours of his muscles beneath the smooth texture of his shirt.

He kissed down her throat, swiping his tongue into the dip between her collarbones.

“I-I—I _fucking_ —I wann’ed’a—“

“Thompson?”

“Why’s he always gotta be such scum?”

“Unfortunately, he was just following the script… as much as I’d like smack him senseless for touching me that way.” She still had the strong inclination toward getting in the hottest bath she could tolerate to scrub the tactile memory of Jack touching her face and hands and back and stomach right off of her skin.

Steve’s embrace tightened. Peggy held on, her arms tight around his shoulders, and lifted her legs to avoid knocking the vanity bench over as Steve moved her bodily toward the bed. She gasped in surprise as she bounced against the mattress, her robe coming loose.

“Careful, darling.”

He was a picture of grief and uncertainty as he leaned over her, one knee on the edge of the bed and his suspenders tangled around his hips. He surged forward, stealing her breath away with the force of his kiss. He pulled back, unbuttoning the top few buttons of his shirt and tossing the dangling bowtie somewhere off the side of the bed.

“I hate him.”

He glared down at her, the anger in his expression clearly meant for someone else. Peggy reached up and ran her fingers though his hair, stiff with pomade. She searched his face, eyes stormy and mouth downturned, and purposefully ruffled his hair, making it jut out and stand up, her own sentiments left unspoken.

Peggy propped herself on her elbows and craned her neck up to kiss Steve. A big, calloused hand slipped around her waist and settled against the small of her back, making her arch her body up into his. He moved them back toward the pillows, his hands and arms gentle while he responded in kind to the way she bit at his lips and sucked at his tongue.

Steve groaned and pulled back, his eyes squeezed shut at the firm grip of her hands in his hair. His hands moved over her body, thumbs brushing hard over her breasts, palms rubbing down over her flanks, fingers gripping her thighs.

He shuddered, wilting, and eased himself down beside her.

They made an interesting pair—she in her open robe and bare skin, he in his rumpled suit and stocking-feet—as he curled himself around her. Warm hands touched her more carefully then, his fingertips following the path from her sternum to her navel, palm smoothing lightly over the swell of her belly. She turned toward him as he kissed her shoulder and tried not to laugh at the mess she’d made of his hair.

“Peg, I wanna go back to New York.”

“So do I. As soon as we’re through with this investigation.”

Steve stuck his bottom lip out in a pout. He settled his chin against her chest and peppered the curve of her neck with soft, dry kisses. “I think I like the Russian assassins better.”

Peggy snorted and laughed out loud. “So do I.”

**Author's Note:**

> "Michael Buchannan" is of course for Peggy's brother (as named in Agent Carter) and for Bucky. "Michael James" felt too biblical, I've already got a James in my Domestic Steggy stories, and frankly, no one really refers to Bucky by his given name in the MCU so I went with a more subtle-ish homage.
> 
> "Sarah Evangeline" is for Angie and Steve's mom. Angela didn't really fit so I went with a similar sounding name that honors Angie without being named directly for her.


End file.
